Archive for May, 2020

The Rebellious Mouse

Editing a WIP (Lillian’s Choice) is difficult as is without a mouse in my creation station. I would name him Fred, but Fred was a pheasant I once knew.  So, Antonio it is.

Antonio has great power over my characters, my plot, and their settings. Oh, and my mood. He appears at random times to distribute his evil. Here’s an example: If I wrote, “Dick and Jane went to the store.”, which I would not, Antonio would display his talents on my screen as, “store to we J ick the ore t and”. Of course, with that example, I deserve to be attacked.

Another: if I wrote, “Forgetting he had lent his knife to his wife, my hero reached for his weapon, which he expected to be in his boot.”  Antonio would edited as, “reached for his wife as hero expected to be…”.

Poor Lillian would have no choice, but to become violent.

An exuberant mouse on any computer is as dangerous as a politician I know about. With ADHD ( I call lazy focus) and weak typing skills, Antonio is frustrating and time consuming. How can I be helpful to poor Antonio before I am arrested by Dell Corporation or possibly the SPCA?

Please, computer wise readers, how does this author control an Antonio?

Oh, quick update on WIP, Lillian’s Choice, my 5 excellent beta-readers have the manuscript, I will begin out-loud readings soon, (oh, poor Hubs) and then Edit #3, as well as the dreaded Agent Search….

Enough!

 

 

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Spoiled Swamp Girl

I put on my old worn-out wide-brimmed straw hat. As an author I cringe at that sentence. Translation: I put on a hat. There, now I feel better.

I found my gardening gloves; not latex “corn-teen” gloves, just old dirty worn-out stuff, and offered myself as free labor to our chief gardener, The Hubs.

Since Covid-19 stopped my market days, (yes, we’re that islolated), planting seeds is now a matter of wanting fresh vegetables. Yes, I know May is a bit late to plant, maybe. I do know the seeds go in the ground and cover them with “black cow”. Don’t ask. Those seeds need water and Carolina sunshine and in my case – prayers.

I know all that.

Which is pretty good for a spoiled Yankee city/country girl. I have memories of Mom’s plentiful gardens, her weeding, harvesting, and canning. Yes, I nearly blistered my hands on the steamer-canner.  As a really young kid, I played with those round rubber rings, but I have only had brief and unsuccessful encounter with gardening.

I might have to try dieting.

Today, I put seeds in the “black cow” soil: tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, garden green peas, green bell peppers, and some sort of sprout from Brussels. Can’t wait! This spoiled girl needs to edit my current WIP, Lillian’s Choice, or I’ll  be an historical fiction … much like my gardening.

Enough!

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Mask vs Bank

After nearly sixty days of isolation, we traveled out of the house, without a mask. To the post office. We slid a letter carefully into the mouth of the outside large metal drive-up  box without touching it and then…we left town! Without a mask.

We drove ten miles to the county seat, an actual city, well, sort of. In my books I refer to it as Plainville. This trip was exciting. It was an eye opener.

Perspectives change with attitude.

Every bit of scenery seemed new. We drove past the county hospital and their Covid-19 tents, recieving souls who question their health. No masks in sight.

I won’t leave home again without a mask.

We circled the old county court house because we like to and often count the number of times we circumnavigate it. Also, because one has to. Remember that infamous chicken who wanted to get to the other side?

Once near the bank, we wished we had our masks. We drove to the back where they keep their drive-through. This one had a sliding drawer and real people were seen inside the main building. I told you it was exciting. A new-to-me person came to the window and said through her speaker, “How are you folks doing today.” She was pretty and young and reminded me of myself when was too was a bank teller; not necessarily pretty. Yes, a long time ago. That’s another blog-post.

She spoke like she knew us! It was kind of her to ask. She didn’t have a mask either.

By the way…isolation is not could for my reasoning abilities.

Enough!

 

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Texting

Texting is , or should be, similar to thinking before you speak. No intended references to an infamous texter. Maybe.

The key is proofreading, editing, revising, reviewing…sound familiar, writers?

I enjoy texting better than talking, calling, or face-timing. When I see myself on a screen, I am often too busy self-analyzing rather than thinking what I’m saying. “This Mess” has played havoc with availability to hair coloring and wrinkle creams. Forget the make up!

Mr. Word and Mr. Press have cheered me during “This Mess”, however.  They renewed my yearly contract. Nice of them. Mr. Master and Mr. Card assisted. Why are they all men? I have no idea, other than I’m so old school. They could be sloths or llamas.

Now, according to Word Press’s love letter , I now have an Happiness Engineer. His name is Herman. Really. I think I am thrilled by this news. Maybe Herman will increase my book sales as soon as I finish my current WIP.  By finish, I mean (see above) editing, proofreading, revising, reviewing, and praying over.

A bit more about “This Mess”. This is day #53 in my Swamp of Seclusion. Mother Nature continues to assume I’m sane by displaying her beauty: sunsets, wildlife, wind-whipped lake waters, occasional otters and my favorite, Douglas the Alligator. Mr. (or Miss) Amazon and Miss Ups-Woman and Mrs. Fed and Mrs. Ex keep me fed. Sometimes I tip them because basically they are keeping me alive.

I would text them, but Herman, my Happiness Engineer, has yet to connect.

Enough! 

 

 

 

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